


I Hate Hospitals

by Jodie



Category: due South
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:31:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2705795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jodie/pseuds/Jodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-COTW visit from Kowalski to Turnbull.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Hate Hospitals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThaFost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThaFost/gifts).



> Thanks to my beta reader for all the help. Note: brief mention of events from Asylum.

“I hate hospitals.  Everyone knows I hate hospitals.”

Ray Kowalski winced at the smell of antiseptic cleanser, and lowered his gaze to avoid looking at the wheelchairs and walkers and crutches of the patients.  Not exactly a hospital, but close enough…a physical rehabilitation center, with all the sights and smells of a hospital.  Ray shuddered hard enough to rattle the zippers on his jacket. 

When Ray called Fraser last week to verify the date for his yearly visit, Fraser requested that he make a stop on his way north.  Renfield Turnbull, Fraser’s former assistant at the Chicago consulate, had been in an accident.  Turnbull had been run down by his own campaign vehicle while out promoting his candidacy for a municipal election.  Fraser refused to speculate about the chain of events, but Ray had witnessed Turnbull’s clumsiness first hand back in Chicago, and could imagine it all too well.  Poor Turnbull couldn’t even count on a sympathy vote in the election, and was now languishing in rehab with only a humiliating loss to contemplate.   Fraser asked Ray to stop for a visit to Turnbull, to cheer him up.

Ray was so intent on ignoring his surroundings that he walked right past the subject of his visit.  Turnbull hobbled behind him, calling out, “Detective, detective” several times before he was able to get his attention.  In normal conditions, Turnbull was taller than Ray, so when he turned to find himself looking down at a sandy brown head bent in exhaustion over a metal walker, Ray felt a pang of remorse over his selfishness.  Turnbull seemed thinner, and his chin stubble and baggy pajamas were a far cry from the tidy uniform and regulation grooming that Ray remembered from the Chicago days.

“Detective, what are you doing here?”

“Hey, Turnbull, I’m heading North to visit Fraser, and stopped by to see you on the way.  Here, I brought you a paperback to read,” Ray replied, pulling a small book from his jacket pocket.   Because he was still leaning against the walker, Turnbull couldn’t take it from him, so after an awkward moment, Ray returned it to his jacket.

“So, hey, how’s the hip mending?”

“I’m much improved, thank you for asking.  I just had a therapy session, and was on my way to the lounge to get something to drink.  Would you like to come sit with me?”

“Yah, sure,  greatness.  Lead the way.”

They moved along the hallway slowly, Turnbull’s labored breathing the only sound between them.  When they got to the lounge, Turnbull lowered himself into a chair while Ray fetched two sodas.  Ray set them on a side table, and sat down opposite the very weary looking-Turnbull.

Turnbull took a swig of his soda, visibly savoring the chill as it slid down his throat.  He took a deep breath, adjusted his posture, and finally looked up at his guest.  Ray watched him and asked, “So better, but still not great, huh?”

“I don’t want to seem ungrateful.  Some of the other joint replacement patients told me stories about older versions of the surgery, with long incisions and painful scars.  I’m amazed at what the doctors were able to do to repair my injury, and thankful for the attention of my therapist.  It’s just very tiring, and losing the election means that I have no job when I leave here in two weeks.  My prospects seem rather narrow.”

“Wait, aren’t you a Mountie still?”

“I resigned in order to enter politics.  I don’t know what I’ll do next.”

Turnbull rested his head against the chair back, and closed his eyes with a sigh.  Ray felt alarmed at the defeat he saw on the face that had always seemed unnaturally cheery before.  He patted Turnbull’s arm in an attempt at reassurance.

“What do your friends say?  You’ve got people giving you help, right?”

“Fraser telephoned me when he heard about the accident, and suggested that I try an alternative to elective office.  I’ve been giving his suggestion some thought.  Since I have experience in a foreign posting, I have considered applying for a diplomatic appointment.”

“Wow.  Could I help, like with a recommendation or something, since we worked together?”

“I would very much appreciate that, Detective. You’re very kind.”

Ray’s hand stilled on Turnbull’s arm, and Turnbull covered it gently with his own opposite hand.

“You’re really beat, huh?  I should probably let you go lay down or something.”

Turnbull smiled wearily, and took another drink before speaking. “I’ve spent far too much time lying alone in bed these past weeks, Detective.  I much prefer your company.”

“So other than Fraser, nobody’s been around to cheer you up.”

“There have been a few reporters who thought I’d make an amusing story.  Otherwise, no.”

“Jeez Turnbull, that’s crappy!  Should I call Fraser and cancel my visit?  I'll stay here until they release you, and keep you company.”

Turnbull huffed out a laugh.  “That isn’t necessary, but I thank you sincerely for the offer. As I recall, we don’t have much in common.”

“Whoa, what are you talking about?”

“We nearly came to blows over our differences in sporting events.   I fear that, pleasant as this is, spending time together would only emphasize our lack of common ground.”

“Hey, I was really stressed that time with the curling.  I was wanted for murder!  That doesn’t help with chit chat you know. That doesn’t count.”

“Well. I may not have been as patient with you then as I might have been, since you were an accused murderer.” Turnbull smiled for the first time that day.

“OK then, we agree, it didn’t count.  Stamp it, file it, forget about it.”

Turnbull laughed outright. “It seems we have a different point of view when it comes to administrative work as well as sports.”

“But this time I’m more charming than annoying, right?”  Ray replied, with a sly expression.

Turnbull blushed, attempted to pick up his soda, and knocked both cans off the table.  He fairly squealed in dismay as the cold liquid poured onto his slippered feet.

Ray reacted quickly, snatching up the cans before they were completely empty, and rushing to the napkin dispenser to arm himself for mopping Turnbull’s wet feet.  Turnbull kept a stream of apologies and self-recriminations all through the cleaning process. Ray found a staff member, who thanked him and said they’d be out to mop the floor shortly.  He then returned to suggest that he walk Turnbull back to this room.

Turnbull’s walk was even more labored, with his slippers squelching with every step.

When they got to his room, Turnbull stepped out of his soggy slippers and maneuvered himself into the bed.  Ray took a seat in the room’s armchair.  He remembered his gift, and laid the book on the bed at Turnbull’s hip.

“So, diplomacy, huh?  Anything like what Thatcher’s doing?”  He lightly tapped the John LeCarre novel with his fingertip.

Turnbull’s eyes widened, than he laughed out loud. Ray smiled broadly in response.

“Someone has been indiscreet, I fear.  Oh, well.  I was thinking of something much less dramatic.  Something more in line with my old duties, but strictly regulation, I assure you. “

“So maybe you’ll wind up back in Chicago, at the consulate.”

“Well, I don’t know…there are consulates and embassies all over the world, as well as diplomatic postings in Ottawa.”

“But you could ask, right?”

“I could try.”

“And I’ll talk to Fraser and see who we can round up to help you get the job.  I’ll let you know what I find out on my swing back down after I see him.”

“You’re serious.  You want to help me. You even want me back in Chicago.”

“Yeah.  We were never tight, but we were on the same side on most things.  We could get to know each other more than just because we both know Fraser.  We could maybe be buddies.”

“That would be lovely, Detective.”

“I think so, too.”

 


End file.
